April Long travels to Japan to be a geisha for a day, and learns the beauty secrets of some of the world's most elusive women

"Every girl in the world should have geisha training," Diana Vreeland once said. "The idea is that you learn from exaggeration. The way they move, their voices, their faces—the makeup!" I try to remember this as I galumph mannishly through the streets of Kyoto in thick, wooden-soled clogs and a 40-pound kimono, with a hot, heavily ornamented, helmetlike wig teetering on my head. I have just undergone a full transformation at the hands of a pro team of Japanese geisha experts, who have spent an hour bestowing upon me the traditional makeup of a meiko, or apprentice geisha: My skin is covered in opaque white pigment, my eyebrows are streaked with red, and my lower lip—only my lower lip—is painted matte crimson, which makes me look as though the bottom half of my face is attempting to devour the upper half. When Vicky Tsai, the founder of geisha-inspired skin-care line Tatcha, invited me to undergo this process with her, I imagined myself emerging as delicate and elegant as Madame Butterfly; instead, I resemble a very bizarre mime. "Yes," says Tsai, as we click through photos afterward. "But your eyes look so hopeful."

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There are numerous reasons why geisha have remained icons of enduring enchantment since they first emerged in Japan in the 1700s. They are a very secretive group, existing in what is known as karyukai, or "the flower and willow world." To see one, even in their traditional home base of Kyoto, is rare, not only because there are now fewer than 300 of them, but because they perform their tea ceremonies only for the wealthiest and most elite (contrary to popular belief, geisha were never courtesans; the confusion stems from Western soldiers' reductive use of the term geisha girls for Japanese prostitutes during WWII). Living embodiments of mystery, serenity, and romance, there are perhaps no other women on earth so devoted to the pursuit of beauty in all of its forms.

The direct translation of the word geisha is, in fact, "artist": Over the course of their five-year training, they become master musicians, mesmerizing dancers, and consummate conversationalists. They learn to be supremely graceful, cultivating melodic voices and laughter that sounds like a wind chime. And when it comes to their hair and skin, they clearly know a thing or two: Despite the waxes, pastes, and pigments that geisha must use every day, they are renowned for their porcelain complexions and shiny tresses.

This was what initially drew Tsai into these elusive women's orbit: In 2009, the Harvard MBA traveled to Japan looking for a solution for her own chronic dermatitis—both prescription and OTC treatments had failed her, so she hoped to discover how geisha were able to maintain the integrity of their skin using time-tested natural ingredients. In the course of her research, she came across an 1813 compendium of skin-care and make-up tips for geisha titled Miyakofuzoku Kewaiden ("Capital Beauty and Style Manual"), which she had translated into English. It now serves as inspiration for Tatcha's entire skin-care range.

As Tsai discovered, the efficacy of many of the ingredients known to the geisha for hundreds of years has now been verified by science. Green tea, for example, which Japanese beauties customarily steeped into a potent concentrate and applied to acne, has been clinically proven to possess a host of antibacterial, anti-inflammatory, and antioxidant properties. Rice bran, which was used by geisha to promote soft skin and hair (usually by bathing in the milky water left over from rinsing rice prior to cooking), protects from UV damage and is also an antioxidant and emollient. Other rituals outlined in the manual were wildly ahead of their time, such as instructions to dampen a piece of kimono silk with distilled flower water and place it on the face—making, in essence, an early sheet mask. "Even though a lot of the ingredients are from the kitchen," Tsai says, "the geisha have a way of taking things that seem common and turning them into something exquisite."

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American artist and perfumer Maria McElroy was similarly inspired by the wisdom of these immaculate women when it came to launching her camellia oil-based skin and hair-care line, Aroma M Beauty. "Geisha use camellia oil instead of water to remove their makeup and cleanse their faces," she says. "It's one of the most famous Japanese beauty secrets. It's even written in The Tale of Genji, which is one of the oldest books in the world, that the women in the court used camelllia oil to dress their hair, which they then scented with incense." High in essential fatty acids, rapidly absorbing, and easily tolerated—and clinically proven to support skin barrier function and promote collagen synthesis—camellia now appears in an array of moisture-bestowing products, from Nuxe Huile Prodigieuse Multi-Usage Dry Oil to Lancôme Absolue Sublime Oleo-Serum.

The latest ingredient to join Tatcha's arsenal is indigo, derived from the same flowering plant that has historically been used to make blue dye. Tsai spotted a reference to its application for hives and rashes in her cherished book, then traced its use back to Japan's notorious samurai warriors, who wore an indigo-dye-treated garment under their armor, having found that the botanical extract helped wounds heal more quickly. Turns out, indigo contains tryptanthrin, an anti-inflammatory compound that helps soothe irritated skin, and indirubin, which inhibits irritation-causing proteins while also strengthening skin's barrier function. A study published in the March 2012 Archives of Dermatology showed dramatic improvement when patients with severe psoriasis were treated with a topical indigo extract; Tatcha's own clinical results on participants with eczema showed a 67 percent improvement in redness, inflammation, and cracking within two weeks.

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In Kyoto, indigo is treated with reverential awe. An artist I meet speaks of the dye as a living entity ("When she's happy, the color is more beautiful"); the farmer who produces the crops for Tatcha's Indigo Collection was himself a sufferer of painful dermatitis whose skin was transformed when his wife concocted a special soap made from the plant's leaves. "I was surprised to find that no one was really using indigo in skin care," Tsai says. One issue, perhaps, is that the color itself contains the active, so in order for a cream to be most potent, it must be blue: Tatcha's body and hand creams disappear upon application, but the ultrarich Soothing Renewal Treatment—a product targeted at those with extreme dry skin or eczema—imparts a temporary Cookie Monster–like hue to the skin. But hey, as any geisha would surely say, whatever works.

The night after my dress-up experience, I am fortunate enough to meet a working geisha named Kyoka, who serves as Tatcha's muse and model. She is dressed in a raspberry-colored silk kimono embroidered with white flowers, her hair is a sculptural masterpiece, her makeup a study in perfection. Over a traditional shabu-shabu dinner, I barrage her with questions—through a translator—and find that the geisha beauty routine is as inventive as ever. Kyoka contours her face, she says, by layering dark foundation in strategic areas under the white makeup (thereby avoiding the weird mime effect); her lipstick, which doesn't budge, is a safflower pigment that she seals on her lips with sugar. I now see why it was important that I spend a few hours in a geisha's shoes: so that I could understand what it takes to even approximate that kind of elegance. Whereas I could barely stand up under the weight of my costume, Kyoka practically floats; and while I found myself clutching frantically at my billowing, getting-caught-in-everything sleeves, her tiny hands are pure poetry, fluttering sweetly up to cover her mouth when she laughs. And there it is, the wind chime.